Everyone in this newspaper and on social media seems to have very strong opinions and strong cheekbones. Very erect existential and spinal postures. I went to sleep drunk and persecutory and woke up cyclothymic and infantilized.
Maybe I needed to say something very astute and revealing about the undemocratic congress, the approval of the calendar in the Senate, the young billionaire of the meritocracy and the online betting company (which she guarantees is not a bet!) or Chico Bosco’s interview with Veja magazine. But I am filled with immature, vexatious and selfish impulses.
While you’re experiencing the spirit of Christmas, I’m experiencing the psychological unpleasantness of the final days of 2025. December is a time to be extremely neurotic and optimistic and to mentally list all the items that disappointed or hurt me throughout the year. And there’s always time to address the detractors from last year and the year before. I devote myself to it very carefully, especially when I take a shower or when I walk the streets wearing t-shirts with a progressive attitude.
In my mind, a screen presents the personalities so I can reward them. Price this bastard pays me for the year, price for my laziness with this annoying bastard of the year, price this couple seemed to want a threesome and wanted the Porchat number of the year.
This is the phrase that comes up most often in my December baths and walks: “all those who are unhappy belong together”. Impressive. The elements I cannot tolerate in São Paulo are obviously from the same group as those I cannot tolerate in Rio, Porto Alegre, etc. How long will I remain infamous, mediocre, ignorant?
My friend Manu says that his greatest revenge is to be happy. If I rely on this graceful lightness, the day will never come. I’ll have to get my revenge by being really sad, just in case.
Perhaps I needed to say something very insightful and insightful about the cult of thinness and what this obsession, criminally naturalized by a patriarchal society, does to the lives of young women. However, I am very unwell and am on a diet.
Maybe I needed to say something very insightful and insightful about my readings, my travels, the classes I took. But I only became a writer to express my fear of being incorrect and ridiculous. Every day I am drawn, deliciously and continuously, towards the inevitable destiny of human beings. Be, be, me, me. Third person fiction continues to win all the praise and I continue to be insulted by those who think having ten readers on Bluesky is a job.
I’ve already hated about five people today and it’s not even eight in the morning. I ate everything wrong at breakfast, which made my gastritis and migraine worse from the start. I didn’t exercise, I didn’t wear sunscreen, I didn’t read the newspaper, and I received fines for driving over the speed limit and not following the rotation schedule.
I am like the fallen and dismembered Santa Claus of Paulista, the one knocked down by the wind. My cyclothymia turns into cyclone-thymia at the end of the year. I know I’ll be like this until mid-January when I realize, “Whew, it’s over.” What happened? I have no idea, but I’m scared, anxious, lonely and angry during the holidays.
I wanted this column to be like this: Wagner Moura, you are so sexy. But as always, I must have ruined everything.
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